


The Man Who Sold The World

by sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Exhibitionism, Fluff, IT'S HERE NOW, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Sort Of, Voice Kink, briefly, but it will show up again later :), except two of them are okay I guess, gross digusting pirates being gross and disgusting, probably should've added that before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs/pseuds/sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs
Summary: Ships has never been one to follow convention or laws so of course, when he meets the Dark Brotherhood, he fits in a little... too well. This follows his journey through the Dark Brotherhood and more, continuing from Cyrodiil all the way to Skyrim.





	1. Not So Sound Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is owned by me but Ships. As always, everything else belongs to Bethesda. The title is from the title of a David Bowie song.

He misses prison. Not the smells or Valen Dreth screaming racism and insults throughout the night, but he misses the friends he made, the enemies, the bruising restraints brought on by his crimes. He's screwed in the head and he knows it. Loves it, even. It got him in trouble with his foster family, specifically his ‘father’, a lot. Everyone knew he was dangerous, but no one dared to stop him besides his father. That ended with sliced-open throats and missing organs. No one wanted to take him in after that.

He found a home in the Waterfront district of the Imperial City, where people come and go often. Plenty of people to help disappear, pockets to pick, and houses to break into just across the water. No one really bothered him there. The guards tried to collect taxes from time to time but they always ended up in the nearby graveyard with none to mourn them. The cycle continued as he got older, and he slowly gathered up enough septims to buy a sturdy, full set of leather armor and a decent steel longsword. He entered the Arena and trained off and on for a few years, occasionally entering an actual fight to test new techniques. As he trained, he did light mercenary work. He took jobs of pest control, unpaid debts, revenge, runaways... You name it, he did it. He only sometimes got paid, but the rewards of friendship and mercantile discounts more than made up for it.

He worked his way up the ranks of the Arena and took up with the Thieves Guild to avoid conflict with them. They pay him richly for stolen goods and provide care packages of food after a contracted job. “Come now, Ancus. You know you can trust me.” He swallows his mouthful of bread and claps the other man on the shoulder. “I won't hurt anyone.” Puny Ancus, as he's commonly known, is an Imperial beggar. He’s a reliable source of valuable information and a good lookout for when a job goes awry. The two have often shared a meal and taken what cloth they have to make tents to escape the nights’ rains.

“Alright, Ships.” Ancus sighs. “They're staying at the Tiber Septim Hotel. I don't know which room, but they eat there every night.” Ships gives him a one-armed side hug. “You are greatly appreciated, Ancus. Remember that.” Ancus smiles and gathers up the rest of their meal, making his way back to his bedroll at the entrance to the Garden of Dareloth. “Save some for me?’ “Always. Shadow hide you.” “You as well, Ancus.” Ships tosses him several septims and takes his leave. Ancus knows he'll come back. He always does.

\------------------

Come morning several days later, the couple staying at the Tiber Septim has been robbed blind, including a specially-crafted amulet from Skyrim’s greatest smiths, and Ships is leisurely stretched out on his bedroll eating from a bag dropped off by Amusei. A shadow passes over his closed eyes. “It's done, Armand. They never even knew until Sundas.” They didn't respond, but Ships could still feel their presence. “What?” He sits up and opens his eyes. A hooded figure shrouded in a soft shadow smiles at him. “You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.”

Ships shudders at the deep voice and mentally flounders. Few people know he's a killer. Others may suspect, but never try to accuse him. He meets the figure’s deep brown gaze and waits. If they have something to say, they'll say it. “You prefer silence, then? As do I, my dear child. As do I.” Ships feels another shudder run down his spine and straight to his cock.

“My name is Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Black Hand. Do you know whom the Black Hand leads?” Ships, having lost his voice due to a dry throat and throbbing erection, nods. He's heard the tales. He always knew they were true, but he never that their members could be this… overwhelming. “Good, my child. Very good. Then you know why I am here, do you not?” Another nod. “You do speak, my child?” Ships clears his throat, hoping he doesn't sound, or look, as aroused as he is. “Yes, Mister Lachance.” Lachance chuckles and Ships bites his lip so hard he feels his lip split with the effort to not moan. Hopefully, Lachance will just think he's nervous. “Ahh. I find your etiquette… refreshing.” He almost purrs as he talks. “Ahh fuck.” Lachance doesn't seem to notice.

“Do you accept, my child?” Ships grins. “I do, Mister Lachance. I am honored to be offered such an opportunity. Thank you.” He chuckles again and crouches down. He smells like warm spices and summer rain. “I should be the one to thank you, Haj-Ei.” Ships waits until he seemingly vanishes into the shadows to breathe out a groan. His hands roam his thighs on their own, his cock impatient and needy for attention. He swears he hears a low chuckle as he paws at himself like a cougar in heat. The sound just moves his hand faster, and he quickly cums in his leather greaves like a teenager. “Fuck…” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices an apple, fresh, with a mostly-encompassing deep red coloring of the flesh.

\---------------

He still can't sleep. So much for what Lachance said. He can't even nap, much less ‘sleep soundly’. Lachance is circling in his head. His voice rings in his brain. His smell is trapped in his nose. Ancus gave him something to help him sleep, but it was pointless.

Lachance is back the next night.

“Along the Green Road lies the Inn of Ill Omen. Seek out the man named Rufio. Know that he is old and weak. You could kill him before he even has a chance to wake… if you so choose.” Ships feels his cock twitch and curses mentally. Usually he has more control over himself than this.

Lachance pulls a dark, semi-ornate dagger from underneath his robes. “A gift on behalf of the Night Mother. And I thought you might enjoy it. A virgin blade that thirsts for blood. Use it well.” Ships shivers as the cold metal passes into his hand. The emphasis on ‘virgin’ and ‘blood’ doesn't exactly help either.

“Send Rufio to his death, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. I will come again when I deem it secure, bearing the love of your new family.” Ships can feel his arousal coursing through his body, but tries to keep a lid on it. “It will be done. Hail Sithis.” Lachance looks a little surprised, having not mentioned Sithis, but responds eagerly. “Hail Sithis indeed, my child. Now go. Waste no time.” He vanishes into the shadows again. This time, Ships doesn't immediately paw at his cock.


	2. A Slit Throat Always Makes A Great First Impression

The man running the Inn of Ill Omen is nice enough to tell him exactly where to go, explaining that the basement is made up of the private rooms Rufio has been staying in. Ships thanks the man and drops down the hatch. The Legion ranger gingerly sipping out of a dark burgundy wine bottle pays him no mind.

The landing isn't exactly quiet, but it doesn't really matter. The snoring is so loud, Ships could've sent down a pack of wolves and Rufio would never know he died. Ships picks the lock on the last, old door in the hallway with delicate movements. The lock is rusty and too much movement will make it squeal. It's almost intimate, the way Ships listens and breathes softly with his movements.

Shortly after, the lock clicks open. Ships pushes the door open carefully and slides in, closing the door behind him. It's dark, just a candle or two at opposite walls, but it's enough to make out the scattered furniture and, presumably, Rufio laying in bed. The only thing that's going to stop Ships is his non-existent conscience. He rolls his feet as he crouch-walks to the bed, careful to stay on the side Rufio’s facing away from. Just a precaution.

Ships gives him a once-over. Old, weak-looking, pathetic dagger under the straw pillows. Definitely Rufio. He hums as he imagines all the possibilities. Too noisy? Maybe. Too messy? For sure. Satisfying? Always. He hums softly as he climbs onto the bed with careful movements. He crouches down as far as he can, leaning onto Rufio and covering his mouth with a gloved hand. Rufio doesn't even move.

He slowly stirs, suddenly seizing as he further wakes. Ships tenses his arm and pulls Rufio to him. “The Night Mother gives the order, I must follow.” He scrapes his sharp teeth along the old man’s neck and bites down lightly. Rufio squirms and screams behind Ships' hand. “My Unholy Matron has called for your death. I am obliged to answer.” The blade Lachance gave him slides down the column of Rufio’s neck. Ships increases the pressure behind it and a thin line of red appears, blood beading along its length. Ships leans closer. “I must please the Night Mother.” Rufio shudders at the warm, wet breath and the words. The last thing he'll ever do. Ships swings his arm up and brings it down, hard and fast. The dagger plunges into the side of the old man's neck, blood gushing forth as Rufio’s throat gurgles around it, drowning in his own blood.

Ships, ever the murderer at heart, takes the dagger out and thrusts it back in. He watches, fascinated, as the blood surges each time the blade re-enters the wound. He runs his claws through the warm blood, humming at the slick feeling between his scales. The color barely shows, too close to his own ruddy, rusty tone. He lets the blood run down each finger and pool in his palm, flexing his hand to swirl it. Ships shivers with the adrenaline coursing through him.

He takes a small, soft square of cloth from a small pouch slung over his shoulder and wraps the blade in it, careful not to smear the blood off of it. Another cloth is used to swab his hands and wrapped around the blade as well. The bundle goes back into the pack and Ships takes his leave, the ranger and barkeep none the wiser.

\----------

He hums as he watches the blood disappear with the late-night, still-warm current of Lake Rumare, flowing from between his scales and from under his claws. The smell is faint now, but it still excites Ships' heart. He returns to his shared space with Ancus. He was confused, but trusts Ships enough to know he doesn't need to ask.

Ships makes a fire and starts to roast a slab of deer he grabbed on his way back. “Where'd you get that one, Ships?” “I downed it myself. Ran right in front of me.” The meat sizzles as the fat heats up and drips into the fire. He can practically hear Ancus drooling. “It's not done yet, friend. But you can go get some of the leeks and carrots to add.” He laughs when he hears Ancus huff and shuffle away.

He hears a rustle in the brush and turns to tease Ancus about his haste, but a gloved hand covers his mouth and he’s pulled into a group of dense bushes, his arms trapped behind him.

Ships shudders as a warm breath spills across his chilled scales, smelling like spices and warm rain. “My dear child, the deed is done.” He moans behind the hand. A deep chuckle rumbles throughout Ships' torso and leaves him panting.

“Rufio lies dead.” As he speaks, the hand not over Ships' mouth, gloveless, travels along his side, petting but teasing. “Well done.” The hand moves to cup his hip, the thumb making small circles over the bone. “The Family will now welcome you… with open arms.” Ships' breathing stutters further as the hand moves to just barely brush his already straining, attention-thirsty cock. “Such skill within your body.” The hand adds some pressure. “It would be a shame for you not to use it, don't you agree, my dear child?” The other hand leaves his mouth and the dark leather glove seems to disappear. “Y-es, Mmister Lachance.” He chuckles again. “Such good manners, my child.”

The now-gloveless fingers tease the corner of Ships' lips. He turns his head and they ease into his mouth. Lachance groans when he sucks on the fingers gently. “You're so eager, my dear child, so greedy.” Ships shudders and hums in agreement. Lachance groans again, gravelly and deep. The hand on Ships' front moves to slide under his greaves and Ships' hips push into it. He hisses as his greaves are pulled down, cock exposed to the chilled air and slowly warmed again by Lachance’s soft, calloused hand. His hips move on their own, his precum enabling him to smoothly fuck into the warm tunnel of the Speaker’s hand.

Lachance fucks his mouth with his fingers, gentle and deep, feeling Ships' tongue flutter, forks swirling around the tips, pushing at the pads. His other hand slows the Argonian’s thrusts and he whines in response. “Such a good child. So good for me.” Another whine, needy and pleading. Lachance’s hand takes over for Ships, stroking teasingly slow, twisting on the path up and back down, thumbing the head of his cock. “Please… Mhmm-Mister Lachance~” He trails off into a long, low moan as Lachance doesn't do what he wants, but instead licks a hot, wet path up his neck and scrapes his teeth along the thin skin above Ships' major arteries.

Lachance finally speeds his hand back up, tightens the circle of his fist. Ships shudders and thumps his head onto Lachance’s shoulder, the Assassin's fingers sliding out of the invitingly-warm wetness of his mouth. Lachance lets him fuck into his fist again, even encouraging it. Ships moans as the Speaker focuses his attention on the Argonian’s sensitive neck, nibbling and lightly sucking. Ships thrusts faster into the hand, getting closer and more desperate. “My dear, dear child. You have no idea how pleased I am with how you killed Rufio, how… arousing it was to hear how you killed him, how much you enjoyed it.”

Ships shivers at the thought of being watched as he kills, can almost imagine Lachance’s eyes on him as he slides the blade he gave him into some unfortunate soul’s throat. He shudders hard and leans more of his weight into Lachance. Ships can feel how aroused Lachance is by this. He grinds his ass along the Assassin’s hard cock, rubs against him in circles, teases him.

Lachance moans and bites down, and Ships is lost to his orgasm, spilling over the Speaker's fingers. Lachance lets out a loud rumble and growls, milking Ships dry. He stills his movements when Ships whines, but keeps abusing his neck with nips and kitten licks. “Dear, dear child. So good for me.” Ships nuzzles his head into Lachance’s jaw, careful of his fins.

“You must go to the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal.” He pants slightly as he talks. “Find the abandoned house and go to the basement. The Black Door will ask you a question. Answer thusly, ‘Sanguine, my Brother’.” A less intense shiver runs through Ships and his cock gives an exhausted twitch. “You did so well, my child. So well.” Lachance runs his hand along Ships' arm slowly. Ships dares to turn his head further, meeting deep brown, still-lustful eyes. Lachance uses the hand resting on the other's shoulder to pull him in further, kissing the corner of his mouth, licking along the seam of his lips. Ships opens up to him, not expecting such intimacy but definitely enjoying it.

He hums as Lachance’s velvety, silver tongue licks into his mouth and runs carefully along his sharp teeth. He meets the muscle with his own, more serpentine tongue. Ships flicks the forks of his tongue across Lachance’s, runs the soft points along his taste buds and the ridges on the roof of the Assassin's mouth. They part with a slick sound and a line of thick Argonian saliva strings between them, still connecting the two for a moment before it breaks.

Lachance reaches a hand to Ships' cheekbone spikes, carefully running the backs of his fingers along the sharp, protruding bones. “My dear child, I cannot even begin to say how pleased I am with your progress.” He bumps his forehead lightly into Ships' snout. “Go to Cheydinhal. We will talk further there.” He stops with a sigh and meets Ships' eyes. “Are you alright?” The Argonian sighs out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Yes, Mister Lachance. More than you know. Thank you for this.” Lachance nods with a soft smile. “Any time, my child. Any time.”

He turns with a swish of soft, black robes and seems, again, to disappear with the shadows. “You're welcome.” Ships smiles like a beggar on skooma who just spent all their septims on more skooma.


	3. Meeting the Family

Cheydinhal is easy to infiltrate, sadly enough. He gets a little side-eye here and there, hearing the guards say things like ‘damn lizard’ occasionally. No one thinks anything of Ships sneaking into a seemingly boarded-up house. It's insulting, but definitely convenient.

The lock is picked unceremoniously and opens without a squeak, the inside pitch black and wholly uninviting. Ships slides in anyway, closing the door behind him. It makes no sound. Seems as though someone took some precautions to not alert anyone to late-night entrances. He continues into the house as his eyes adjust to the lack of light and searches for the basement door. He slinks through a small room and another door leading to a descending, sloped tunnel of crumbling rock and cold, hard-packed dirt. A red glow pulses as he nears the end, accompanied by a deep rumble, like a hum.

The tunnel leads to a door, ornamented by a skull with a handprint on its forehead and a woman reaching out to a group of people bowing before her. The, presumably, Black Door appears to be the source of the blood-red glow. “What… is the color… of night?” The rumbling voice echoes in the small space. “Sanguine, my Brother.” Ships doubts himself for a moment before the voice seems to whisper “Welcome… home” as it opens softly. Ships cautiously steps through and watches curiously as the Door shuts just as softly as it opened. “So, you have arrived.” The not-so new voice runs over Ships like warm water. Lachance steps out from the shadows with a smile on his face that's mirrored in his eyes. “I had hoped I would be here when you came in for the first time, to see your face as you take it all in. Welcome home, my dear child.”

Ships turns to him and impulsively moves closer, though it seems Lachance has the same idea. Lachance’s bare hands make their home on Ships' shoulders when they meet halfway, the red glow pooling beautifully in his dark eyes. He looks dangerous. “I certainly feel at home.” His voice is surprisingly steady. “Though I could feel a bit, more, welcome.” Lachance chuckles warmly, inviting. An equally warm hand travels along the side of Ships' neck, fingers caressing the soft, delicate skin around his gills, blunt nails catching on the jagged edges of his scales. Ships' eyes linger on Lachance’s luscious lips and he raises a hand to them. He runs a claw over Lachance's plump bottom lip, savoring the way his lips part on a soft gasp and his eyes flutter closed. He's unusually responsive.

Ships leans closer into Lachance until their lips almost touch. He can almost taste the apple lingering on the Assassin's breath. His forked tongue flicks across Lachance’s bottom lip, now tasting the remnants of the sweet fruit. Lachance lets him in with a groan.

“Ahem.”

Lachance quickly pulls away to drop his head onto Ships' shoulder. “Yes, Sister Ocheeva?” His voice is slightly breathless and vibrates along Ships' spine. “I assume this is the newest Family member?” Ships turns to the woman, somewhat caught off guard by her being a fellow Argonian, and tries to subtly nuzzle reassuringly into Lachance. “I am. Nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

The woman, Ocheeva, sets whatever she was holding onto a small table in front of Ships. “When you are ready,” she glares in a parental way through Ships, “your new armor awaits. May it keep you safe. Sithis guide your hand.” She walks away from them with a stab to her step, but Ships can see the childlike smile as she turns.

Lachance groans a different groan and tucks his head beneath Ships' chin. “That's a first.” The Speaker lifts his head to meet Ships' gaze. His cheeks are tinted a light, rosy color. He drops his head back down. “I feel like such a child.” Ships clicks his tongue and, with a renewed confidence, cups a hand on the back of the man’s neck. “You are no child, Mister Lachance.” He places a kiss on the soft, black hair and Lachance shivers. “Although I love the way you say my name, please, call me Lucien.” Ships nods and tangles his fingers into the silky hair, just petting. “As you wish, Lucien.” The man shudders and lets out a warm breath across the collar of Ships' armor.

He pulls away with a soft sigh, and allows Ships to go past him. He reaches for the armor on the table, testing its strength and texture. Fine, soft but tough leather with specialized coatings, the slight tingle to the skin of several enchantments. It looks blacker than night in the light of the chandeliers, but as it catches the red glow of the Black Door, it shimmers with a light blue hue and seems to have deep purple threads in the stichting.

“Only in the light of the Black Door does the armor of the Brotherhood show its color.” His voice has returned to normal, for the most part. “Otherwise, it remains darker than the Void itself. They come as a gift from the Night Mother. Made for each Family member even before they join, perfectly fitted and, if you gain the favor of our Unholy Matron, it could be enhanced.” Ships reverently lays the armor over his arm.

Lachance puts an arm over his shoulder. “Now, my child. Are you ready to begin your initiation mission?” Ships hums thoughtfully. “I would like to rest a bit first, but surely it would not hurt to at least hear the details now?” He turns to Lachance for confirmation. Lachance grins. “No, my child. In fact, I would say you need to rest. I have been… taxing, for your past few nights’ sleep.” They share a small laugh. The embarrassment colors beneath Ships' scales, barely noticeable on the surface.

“I will take you to our communal quarters. You can rest there.” Lachance’s hand drops to Ships' forearm and pulls lightly. He leads the Argonian leisurely across the large, stone chamber, three of the walls framing a large wooden door, one sunken into what seems to be a hallway. Lachance brings him to one of the doors not in a hallway and pushes it open gently. Ships takes in the beds and chests, a table in the corner accompanied by a cabinet storing food and drink. How family-like.

Several people, some dressed in the Brotherhood armor and some not, turn to them. One, an Orc in shining heavy armor, snorts and turns back to his ale. Ships shifts uncomfortably. Lachance leans in close to him and forces eye contact between them. “There will be time for them to come around to you later. For now, you should unload what you will and talk to Ocheeva.” His voice lowers, but doesn't exactly soften. “If you don't come back to rest, I will personally come after you, drag you back in here, and make you fall asleep. Understood?” Ships holds back a laugh. “Yes sir, Mister Lachance.” Lachance smiles anyway and exits, all the others watching with a strangely cautious gaze.

Ships tries to pay them no mind, unloading various pouches onto the bed furthest from the rest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, he just doesn’t trust them yet. He busies himself with checking his things, transferring unnecessary items and double-checking the sharpness of several blades before strapping them back onto his belts. He makes his exit and ignores the various sharp and curious looks in his direction, intent on finding Ocheeva again.

He finds her poring over a book on local ingredients used in poisons. “Sister Ocheeva? I am allowed to address you as such, yes?” She looks up, just as vaguely motherly as before. “Yes, fellow Saxhleel, you may. Before you begin your inquiries, may I ask your name?” Ships pulls one of the several chairs from around the table and moves it to face the woman more directly. “Haj-Ei, but most call me Ships.” She smiles openly. “Hides-His-Eyes? A most fitting name for one of our Family, Brother, and very handsome when pronounced in our native Jel.” Ships grins toothily. “Thank you, Sister. Now,” he clears his throat, “about my first contract…” He trails off, hoping she’ll start the explanation on her own. She doesn’t.

“I believe I am now in charge of your first contract, yes?” The voice originates from behind Ships, startling him and Ocheeva both. “Yes, Brother Vicente. As I was about to relay to him.” The man walks in front of Ships, holding up his hands in defense before Ships can say anything. “Please, do not let my appearance… unnerve you. I assure you, you are quite safe. The needs and Tenets of the Brotherhood come before my own needs as a, well, I’m sure you know already.” Ships unfreezes and shakes his head. “I would not dare to question you, Brother. I have met several vampires who share a similar sentiment. You have given me no reason to fear you.” A surprised look flashes across the man’s gaunt face. “That is… I truly don’t know what to say to such kindness. You can truly be called a Brother.” He grins, sharp fangs glinting in the candlelight, and places a pale hand on Ships' shoulder. “Your name, dear Brother. I would have it.” “Haj-Ei, but if that’s too hard to pronounce-” The man stops him with a soft laugh. “It is not, Haj-Ei. I am quite used to pronouncing Saxhleel names. I would, in fact, prefer to call you by your given name. I have found it to be quite refreshing.” He takes a seat next to Ships, letting the hand fall away from his shoulder. “Now, I believe you wanted details for your contract?”


	4. Watching Pirates All Day is the Least Fun He's Had All Year

“The packing crates may provide a way in. Oh, one more thing before you go.” Ships halts from moving his chair back into its original place. “You may want to get into the habit of asking your Family members for advice on your contracts. Their insight may prove valuable.” The two share a nod and Ships turns and slinks into the living quarters. Most of the beds are filled already, the Orc, now rid of his armor, snoring deeply. He walks softly to the bed with his things and sets down whatever else may get in the way of his rest, the knives, for example. He sits on the bed cross-legged, staring off into the distance. He considers what he’ll tell Ancus about all this, if he could stay closer by. They aren’t family, but he does care for the man’s well-being.

“That does not look like resting, Haj-Ei.” Ships blinks himself out of his thoughts. “I may have to carry out my promise.” Lucien hums and leans down, throwing an arm over Ships' shoulders. Ships seems to be lost in his thoughts again, pliant in the Speaker’s hold. Lucien untangles his legs and sits him on the edge of the bed. He removes the leather boots, careful to loosen them enough to not struggle with them, and moves onto the cuirass. He unbuckles the belts and fastenings, taking it off piece by piece. The undershirt of softer leather comes off too, and Ships shivers with the sudden cold. Lucien unstraps the knee pads and protective codpiece from the greaves, folding everything into a neat pile on top of a nearby chest. Lucien leans the Argonian back until his head rests on the pillow. He clears Ships' other miscellaneous belongings off the rest of the bed and carefully pulls a dark blanket out of the same chest. He lays it across Ships and pulls until it covers him from neck to toe. The Speaker circles the bed, seemingly making sure he hasn’t missed anything, and crouches back down by Ships' head. “Go to sleep now, my dear child.” He leans in, places a tender kiss on Ships' forehead and rests his forehead on Ships’. “Good night.” Ships' eyes have long since closed, his breathing slowed, his mind quieted. He drifts off as Lucien rubs a hand along his arm and hums softly.

\----------

Ships awakes in a warm haze, mind still empty and uncaring. He yawns and stretches his legs. Tries to, anyway. His feet find a warm mass where a space should be, but, being as asleep as he still is, he pushes his feet closer to the warmth. He hums, content. “Haj-Ei.” Ships moves his head toward the sound and nuzzles into another warm mass. “Haj-Ei, wake up.” Ships, although he is not a Khajiit, purrs. “I suppose a while longer wouldn’t hurt, would it?” The warm mass nuzzles back into Ships, who curls up into a small, dragon-like coil. He’s at least half-awake now, but still too uncaring to move or even open his eyes just a bit. “You're right, Haj-Ei, we should stay.” Ships just hums again. The warm mass huffs a laugh, spreading warmth across the back of the Argonian’s neck. “So very right, indeed.”

\----------

The warmth wakes him up, then the wetness, then the sensation. His senses bloom into one, overwhelming burst and he shudders. “Good morning, Haj-Ei.” The warm breath spills across the newly-wet skin near his gills. “It definitely feels like a good morning.” His voice comes out rough from sleep. A hand trails around his thighs and they come apart on their own.

Lachance chuckles darkly. “Your body is already so eager for me?” He moves his hand to Ships' knee, rubbing his thumb in a circle around the kneecap. “We should have gotten up hours ago, Haj-Ei, but someone decided to curl up like a housecat.” Ships just grins. “Well maybe someone shouldn't make such a good bed partner.” Lachance grins back. The hand is removed from his knee and instead used to pull Ships into sitting up. Ships falls forward until his head rests on Lachance’s shoulder. “Do I have to get up?” Lachance gently rubs a hand along the Argonian’s spine. “Yes, my dear child. There is much work to be done.”

\----------

The pirates are so noisy, it’s no small wonder why someone wants their captain dead. They drink and sing, if you can call it that, all hours of the night and yell insults at everyone who even looks at their precious ship throughout the day. “Isn’t she beautiful? Fastest on the Gold Coast, guaranteed.” Ships barely holds in a sigh. He’s been surveying them for several days with Ancus’s help and, until now, none of them had tried to talk to him. It was great while it lasted, at least. “I’m sure she is, friend.” The pirate grins. He’s missing a few teeth. “If only more could be like you, see her true beauty.” Ships bites his tongue, quite literally.

The pirate walks off with a strange sway to his step, as though he hasn’t gotten used to being on land again. He joins his crewmate in yet another drink, this time something much more illegal and potent than Cyrodilic Brandy, finally leaving Ships with a moment of blessed silence.

“They’ll be going back to the Bloated Float soon.” He sighs with relief. “Thank you for that wonderful news, Ancus.” The man laughs behind him, but stifles it quickly. “You’ll be alright. Besides, you’ve been in a much better mood the last few days.” Ships hums in agreement. “Can I ask why?” “No.” Ancus shuffles. “Later.” Ships watches the pirates lean all their weight against each other and try, unsuccessfully, to get up off the stone wall surrounding the water. “Look on the bright side, Ships, maybe they’ll drown.” That startles a high-pitched laugh out of him. The pirates don’t seem to hear him at all, and the first mate, Malvulis he thinks, is too focused on watching the Marie Elena. Ships regains his composure and signals Ancus to distract Malvulis.

He hears Ancus ‘desperately beg’ the first mate for septims as he slinks along in the shadows to their loading area, filled with crates and bags of varying sizes. One is conveniently broken-open. He climbs inside and uses a small amount of frost magic to close the box behind him. He listens as the first mate eventually does give Ancus several septims and waves off his thanks. She moves closer to his box, but seems to stop where she was originally, keeping an eye on the Marie Elena.

He passes the time by maintaining the ice-lock and contemplating what he’ll tell Ancus. He can’t just tell him about the Brotherhood, can he? And what about whatever he has with Lachance? How will Ancus feel about that? He’s already noticed how much happier Ships is, but surely he doesn’t suspect the cause to be a handsome assassin with a voice like warm honey, does he? That voice cannot be imagined before it is heard, surely. Just thinking about the Speaker, hovering around him, whispering to him… he shudders.


	5. Nevermind, Listening to the Pirates is Much Worse

He wakes to voices emerging from below the deck of the Marie Elena. “He said we had to get all of it on before dawn, no exceptions.” That must be the first mate. “But-” “Do it, or the entire Imperial Legion will find out about your dealings.” The pirate grumbles quietly as he comes closer. “Fuck Tussaud, and fuck that grey bitch.” Ships continues to listen carefully, and scowl, as he picks up the smallest cargo first. The pirate eventually tries to pick up the crate Ships is in. Ships quickly casts a light Feather spell, not having great control over the school of Alteration yet. The crate is lifted off the ground with a small grunt and carried into the lowest deck. Ships bides his time, the Feather spell only barely still in effect, and the crate is dropped rather rudely in the back of the storage space. Feather wears off just as the pirate exits to grab more cargo.

The adrenaline courses thickly through Ships' veins, spiking his heartbeat and his arousal. His hands scratch restlessly across his thighs, trying to keep himself from breaking concentration. The pirate makes only two more trips before loudly announcing, “That’s the last of them!” Ships breathes out slowly, allowing his hands to roam where they will for the moment. No harm can be done now, right? He hisses as the cold still lingering on his palms meets heated flesh. His claws rake along his scales, catching on the lines of soft skin between them. Ships snaps himself out of it, dragging his claws along the artificially-placed ice rather than himself. It flakes off with each pass and melts into the air. The front of the crate is slowly tilted until it rests on the ground and Ships crawls out. He stands and stretches out as much as he can in such a still very cramped space.

He sneaks along the stacks of cargo. Hay litters the floor and occasionally floats down off of shelves full of flour sacks. The ladder to a higher deck is a bit creaky, but he manages to make only a tiny squeak. He lifts the hatch and climbs up to the next deck. If he remembers right, there are only three.

“Did you see that guy?” “What guy?” “The dark red Argonian with the fins. You see him?” “Yeah. What about him?” Ships stills. “I'd pay a thousand septims to see what that mouth of his can do.” Ships gags and blocks them out as he slips past and onto the next ladder. The next deck is significantly less mentally scarring, but they do snore. As far as he can hear, no one but the first mate is still awake. “If it weren't for Captain Tussaud I wouldn't have to fucking stay here. I owe him my life. That shouldn't mean I have to deal with these racist, sexist shits.” “We're not all bad.” Ships was wrong. At least one more of the crew is up. “Some of us don't believe that shit about women on board. The others are just fucking idiots.” Malvulis laughs. “You're right about that, at least. Go to sleep. You've earned that much, if not more.” They part and Malvulis settles into a corner atop one of the crates.

Ships leans against the wall until he hears Malvulis mutter in her sleep. He winds carefully between the bed rolls and bottles strewn about. The last ladder. He climbs it and stops at the top, listening to see if Captain Tussaud is still awake. Just pig-like snuffling.

He opens the hatch slower this time, scouting where exactly Tussaud is sleeping. He's slumped across his dining table, a bottle of Surilie Brothers Wine next to his hand and cheap mead next to the other. Ships snorts. Such an intimidating image. He’s almost tempted to walk right up to the man, but he doesn't. He slinks up behind him and draws the Blade of Woe from its new sheath.

He briefly runs the point of the Blade along the back of the man's neck and watches as he scratches at it in his sleep. He climbs onto the chair and crouches above Tussaud. The chair protests as he straddles the sleeping man’s back. He stirs, but does not wake. The tip of the Blade digs into the thin skin, drawing blood that mingles with the dried blood of Rufio. Tussaud jerks awake suddenly, the bottles of alcohol thudding and shattering as they hit the carpeted floor.


	6. Three is A Crowd, But Only When It's Inconvenient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter this year! Happy New Year and see ya in 2020!

“Well, Captain. It seems it is finally your time.” Tussaud squirms beneath Ships. “I've avoided being caught for years! I'm not going to the prisons!” Ships laughs darkly. “No prison will be your destination, Captain. Only the Void.” He brings the Blade up to the base of Tussaud’s skull and shoves. Ships can hear and feel the dark metal grate along his vertebrae and crack open his skull. The blood pours out smoothly like a calm waterfall and mixes with the wine on the floor, a dark, deep crimson stain. A fitting mixture for the death of a pirate.

“My dear, dear child. How much more delightful it is to witness the ruthless murders yourself.” Lachance’s hand caresses Ships' shoulder blades through his armor and runs down his arm, still pushing the Blade into the back of Tussaud’s head. The Speaker’s fingers brush against Ships' own tense and poised digits. Ships shudders. “I am pleased you were able to make it this time around, Lucien.” He releases the Blade and links their hands. Lachance’s other arm wraps around his side and his warmth spreads along Ships' back.

Lachance reaches for the Blade and pulls it out. The blood gushes over their joined fingers. “You did well, Haj-Ei. So well, my child.” He puts the Blade of Woe back in its sheath at Ships' hip. Ships shivers and groans softly. “I do aim to please you, Lucien.” He hums. “How so?” Ships turns in Lachance’s embrace. “Like this, for example.”

He flicks his tongue along Lachance’s jaw and scrapes his teeth lightly across his cheekbones. “Was it close to what happened with Rufio?” Ships huffs against his neck, above his pulse, just past steady. “Not quite, but much more pleasurable.” Lachance drags his hand down his chest. “Really?” The Argonian laughs. “Indeed. In addition, you have witnessed my deed and I won't have to kill you afterwards.” Lachance grins. “Could you?” Ships bites over his throat just enough to leave indents. The Speaker shudders. “Maybe. But if I did, in fact, kill you, it would be just as pleasurable as this.” Ships licks over the marks on Lachance’s neck as he dismounts from Tussaud’s now long-dead corpse.

He hooks his claws into the soft, black robes and pulls lightly. Lachance follows, so he walks him backwards until the backs of Ships’ knees hit something. He climbs backwards onto it. The, now known, bed has a small amount of give to it. Lachance follows him up, walking on his knees until he drops onto all fours over Ships. “How would you make my death pleasurable, Haj-Ei? Show me.” Ships leans against the headboard, making an opening for the Speaker between his legs. “Come closer, Lucien.”

Lachance does, and Ships unhooks his claws from the man's robes. He undoes the cloth belt from around Lachance’s waist and slips his hands into the opening in his robes. He meets another layer of soft fabric and Lachance purrs. “Lucien?” The Speaker hums in response. “How do you take these off? There’s so much fabric…” Lachance chuckles. “Here, Haj-Ei, let me.” He pulls away just enough to pull the robes over his head, revealing a few layers of leather padding and greaves. Ships stops Lachance’s hands and reaches to pull these off himself. The leather under armor peels away slowly and the greaves slide off. Ships' hands roam over the newly-uncovered, heated skin. His claws scrape along sinewy muscle. Lachance hisses, but leans into it.

Ships digs his claws into a spot between Lachance’s pectorals, poking into the thin skin above his sternum. “If I tried to stab you here,” he presses in further, “you would be in pain and bleed, but would not die and the blade would suffer worse.” He moves to a spot inches lower and presses. “Now here, you would die.” Lachance shivers. “Maybe I would make it fast, or maybe the blade would enter you so slowly you would feel every inch as it slides beneath your ribs and pierces your diaphragm.” He moves his hands to stroke along the soft, warm skin of Lachance’s sides as he quivers above him. “You are quite good at this, my child.” He presses closer. “Just the murder or the, uh, sex as well?” Lachance tongues his gills tenderly. “Both.”

The Speaker trails a dexterous hand across Ships’ thighs until it settles on his rigid cock, Ships dropping his head back and relaxing into the bed. “You're not so bad, nghh, yourself.” Lachance’s tongue glides along the Argonian’s jaw as his fingers grasp Ships’ chin. “So I've been told, Haj-Ei, about many things. My fingers included.” Ships exhales with a shiver. The Speaker’s fingers slip into his open mouth and come to rest on his tongue. “Suck.” He obeys.

Ships laughs a little when Lachance purrs. “Gotten more used to this, have you?” Teeth scrape lightly. A tongue drags leisurely along flesh. He shakes his head. “Just less startled.” He slows his other hand, going from stroking to deliberately teasing the Argonian. He groans around the man's fingers. “Are you ready for this, Haj-Ei?” Ships nips gently at his fingertips. “I've been ready for this since the first time you came to me.”

Lachance chuckles. “I could tell from the way you came in your armor like a desperate whore.” Ships shudders. Lachance unfastens the Argonian’s greaves with one hand and slides them down until he can pull them off completely. “That obvious, Lucien?” He brings his mouth closer to Ships. “You knew I was there, but did you stop?” Lachance retakes his hold on Ships’ cock, tightening for a brief moment. “F-fuck, Lucien.” He resettles Ships’ legs to lay across his own, wrapped around his torso. “Did you? Answer me, Haj-Ei.” Ships stays silent for a moment as the hand on his cock keeps its rhythm, warm and incredibly distracting. “I did, Lucien. I heard you and I k-kept going. I knew what I- mmm, what I was doing, not what I was getting myself into.” Lachance removes his fingers completely and they instead drift down past Ships’ torso. “Indeed, my child. Indeed.”

His saliva-slick fingers slide down to Ships’ hole. The Argonian sighs as they spread his own saliva over the muscle, occasionally dipping in to tease. He stifles a moan as two fingers enter him and coat his insides thoroughly, pulling out slowly and torturously. His hole flutters at the loss of the stretch and stimulation. Ships hears more than sees Lachance spit into his hand, feeling light movement as he, presumably, slicks his cock.

He moans at the feel of said warm, hard cock teasing his entrance. “Calm down, Haj-Ei. I'm not even in you yet.” He laughs as Ships tries and is stopped from covering his eyes. Ships bites his lip as Lachance pushes forward slowly but surely, the head of his cock making itself known as it sheathes itself inside Ships. Lachance visibly stiffens as he pauses, Ships opening his mouth in a silent moan when he rocks forward gently.

“Captain! You alright? Cyrus thought he heard summat.” Ships tenses and the Speaker's head drops to Ships’ chest. “Oh fuck, Haj-Ei… you're so warm…” The door leading to the main deck rattles as someone knocks violently. “Captain, you in there?” Ships tightens as the door creaks against its locks. “Stop that, Haj-Ei. You're not helping.” Lachance nuzzles his neck and licks along his gills. Ships hisses a, “Neither are you,” but Lachance just sits up further, steadies his hands on Ships’ hips, and continues, shallowly thrusting further into Ships. “Luci-en~”

“CAPTAIN!” Ships flinches as he tenses again and Lachance can't help but to moan. “D’ya hear that?” “What the fuck is goin’ on in there?” The door rattles again. It creaks for a dangerously long time before finally ripping the locks open and slamming into the wall. Lachance bottoms out, both groaning at the sensations, just as the first pirate enters. “What in the Divines?” Ships whines as the Speaker continually, teasingly pushes in deep and grinds against his prostate. The pirate motions back to the door and several more pirates pour in. “Looks like we're in for a show, boys.” Several laugh. “Mind if we stay? We've been running dry on ‘entertainment’ for quite some time.” Ships feels every inch of the Speaker's cock rub and stretch him deliciously. He also feels every pair of eyes in the room on him, watching hungrily. “Please… please-” Lachance grins at the pleading. The Speaker pulls out until just the head of his cock is teasing the ring of muscle. “If you insist,” he drops his voice, “Haj-Ei.” 

Ships can only whine as Lachance’s cock slowly pushes back in. The Argonian feels himself heat up at the whispering and various fabrics rustling just beyond his vision. “Haj-Ei, look at me. Don't pay them any mind. Just watch me.” Ships shudders as Lachance whispers to him, his voice deeper and rougher than usual. “I'm fine, just- ahh fuck, there. Right th-there-” Lachance obliges him, hard cock fucking into the warmth and slickness. Ships pants at the slowness, dragging out the pull and the building pressure in his groin. The Speaker’s hand finds its way to Ships’ needy cock. The pirates are well-heard now. Most of it is lewd with creative cursing, some of it is more along the lines of ‘fuck, yes’ and ‘right there’. The pirates are very comfortable with each other, it seems.

Lachance’s arm flies out dagger-first just above Ships, going past him, on a particularly good thrust. The Argonian takes a second to come back to reality and finds that a pirate snuck in closer, or tried to anyway. Lachance’s dagger is at the man's throat, enough distance between them to frighten the pirate without actually touching or hurting him. Lachance growls angrily. “He's mine.” Ships finds himself mewling as Lachance just barely rocks back and forth, deliberately keeping a snail's pace. His hand keeps its steady rhythm, occasionally twisting or thumbing the head of Ships’ cock. “Fuck- yours, Speaker. I’m yours-” The Speaker harshly plunges the dagger into the headboard in front of him and braces his now-unoccupied arm above Ships’ shoulder to bear his weight.

Ships’ mouth drops open and drool flows down his jaw. Lachance groans at the feel of Ships’ hole spasming and gripping him, trying desperately to keep him inside the wet heat. Ships’ senses close off until all he feels and hears is Lachance, in and on and around him.

“Please, Speaker…” “What is it, my child?” He's panting hotly against Ships’ chest. “I need, please~” Lachance just grins. “Please, what?” Ships whines. “Please f-fuck~ harder, Speaker-” Lachance thrusts hard once. Ships arches into it as much as he can. “What did you call me, when we first met? Say it.” “Please, Mister Lachance.” He waits until the Argonian meets his eyes to push his legs up with both hands, his knees now almost resting on his shoulders. He rapidly fucks into Ships at the new angle until the wet, rough slapping of skin-on-skin rings in Ships’ head. The Argonian feels his thick saliva build up under his tongue, panting to take in enough air to stay conscious. He almost screams when Lachance pulls out. As Ships starts to protest, the Speaker grinds his cock, hot and hard, along Ships’ ass, the head occasionally catching on his sensitive rim. The protesting melts into a moan, deepening when Lachance pushes back in slow enough to drive a lesser man insane.

The hand on Ships’ cock grows faster in its strokes, slick with precum and very, very arousing. Lachance moans as he leisurely fucks in and out of the Argonian, panting and shuddering. “Ahh fuck, Haj-Ei…” He spreads Ships’ legs further apart, suddenly switching to erratic, short thrusts. Ships just drops his head back and takes it, pushing into it as much as he can with his legs pushed aside and his ass being pounded into the bed below them. Several pirates cry out, the sound all but lost in the general haze of pleasure and sensation. The Speaker’s nails scratch the backs of Ships’ thighs, burning and stinging wonderfully.

“Hah fuck~ Speaker, I need…” Lachance pulls out, thrusts back in rough and fast, then stills. “What was that?” Ships whines. “Mister Lachance, sir, please… I need you-” A groan is ripped from him as Lachance is lost to the world, losing his rhythm completely, growling and panting wetly across Ships’ gills. He feels the Speaker pull away quickly, liquid heat spilling across his ass and inner thighs. The Argonian keens as Lachance shudders and leans closer, mouthing at his neck and collarbones, pushing gently back in and shallowly thrusting. A full-throated moan rolls out as he feels the Speaker's cum get shoveled into him. He feels even more spill into him, his ass clenching and milking Lachance. “Fuck, Haj-Ei, so good for me… so good, my child.” The hand returns to his cock, making all the right pulls and swipes of precum and his throat closes on a scream, hips bucking into the man's hand as he cums over his fingers. They moan at the dual pleasure, the Speaker's head falling to rest on Ships’ chest, breathing heavily.

“Oh fuck, that was ‘ot. I would say you need ta come back more oft’n, but I still need to know summat. Why the fuck did you kill the cap’n?” The same pirate, who seems to be in charge still, starts to pull a cutlass from its scabbard. Lachance seems unfazed, content to begin licking the slowly-cooling cum from his fingers one at a time, making direct eye contact with Ships. His mouth pops as he removes his fingers, cheeks hollowed and flushed a beautiful red. As soon as the last finger is deemed ‘clean’, his hand begins to glow a faint purple, transparent orbs forming in his palm, pulsing deep blue. His gaze never drifts from Ships'. “That is for the Dread Father to know, and for you at which to guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been siting on this for a while with no motivation, sadly. Fixed it up a bit today, and we're back on track! Another is already on the way! I would give specific times but I have no concept of the passage of time ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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